


Answers

by lennongirl



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, POV George Harrison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:59:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lennongirl/pseuds/lennongirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George has many questions he doesn't bother asking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Answers

**Author's Note:**

> Written in April 2009. 
> 
> [Russian translation can be found [right here](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2236429), thanks to [acoustic_cry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/acoustic_cry/pseuds/acoustic_cry)]

When George was thirteen, he started hanging out with Paul. It had started innocently enough, some mindless chatter on the bus quickly emerged into lengthy discussion about music. 

It was a win-win-situation for both of them. Paul was older, just a few months, but when he was with George, he could pretend to be all grown up and wise beyond years. George enjoyed the attention from Paul. He could see right through his façade and tried not to be bothered when Paul talked him down yet again. He didn’t understand why Paul was acting that way, but he never bothered to ask. 

***

George wasn’t around when Paul and John met for the very first time, but he heard the story so often, it had become some sort of movie in his head, the kind of movie you watch again and again until you feel as if you’re part of it. 

Strangely enough, his own very first meeting with John has become some sort of movie, too; every time he thinks back, he watches the scene as part of an audience, not one of the main characters. He sees the group of young lads in the bus, he hears Paul’s urgent command; “Go on, George, show us,” and he feels John’s stare on him, pretending not to care but being as impatient as it gets. 

George had heard things about John Lennon: everybody had, and if it hadn’t been for the music, he wouldn’t have been keen on meeting him. And when he sat face to face in the bus with him, George was nervous, but not because of John’s reputation or the fear of not being able to play _Raunchy_ the way he could and should. George’s nervousness was more anticipation than anything else, and it didn’t fade until his fingers found the chords and played the strings.

John looked at Paul, his face barely showing any recognisable emotion at all, yet Paul’s face was suddenly brightening up, beaming with the good news John had just told him in silence. George later wondered how that had worked, but he never asked.

***

The group changed, and most of the time, it was only George, Paul and John. And it wasn’t always easy. George tried to find access to John, but every so often, John turned him down. Paul was a different matter. George knew it was now John who did the talking down – George was too young, Paul looked too young – and while George was trying not to be too impressed, he noticed that Paul couldn’t shake it off so easily. 

Every once in a while, John and Paul would quarrel, and John would eventually smile; satisfied at Paul’s anger and hurt. George tried to stay out of these moments, and make them forget he was even there. That’s why only George saw, what John looked like once Paul had stomped off after a fight: unsure, disappointed, hurt.

“Why do you do that to him?” George asked John after Paul had left.

“What?” John snapped, taken aback by George’s unusual intrusion.

“Well, you know. Why are you mean when that’s obviously not what you want?”

“Is it not, then? And how come you know when I don’t know myself?”

George shrugged. John shot him a glance and the talk was over. There was less fighting afterwards, and George never asked why.

***

During their first stay in Hamburg, there was this one time when George suddenly awoke in the middle of the night. He was in the grey zone of sleep and being awake, trying to drift back, eyes still closed. His mind started working when he heard a soft laugh.

“You never know,” he heard John whispering.

“It’s just… I’m not too sure about it all,” Paul whispered back.

George lazily opened one eye, his head facing the wall. Judging from the direction of the voices, George knew John and Paul were lying on Paul’s bed, yet he didn’t dare to turn, didn’t dare to look around and see why John’s voice was coming from a place it didn’t belong.

“It’ll be fine,” John said softly. “Now hush, get back to sleep.”

And then, it was all silence again.

When George woke up the next morning, John was gone. George never asked either one of them about it, because he wasn’t sure if maybe he hadn’t dreamt it all.

***

Years later, there was fighting again, but it was of a different nature. George called it artistic fighting, it was more of an heated argument about arrangements and chords, lyrics and bridges. Sometimes, George was part of it, for times had changed and they all treated each other like equals.

Most of the times, however, John and Paul could turn a discussion into a shoutout.

“Oh, just SOD OFF,” Paul said on one of these occasions, his head turning red with anger, his boot kicking a guitar stand.

“Sod off?” John shot back. “Where to and why? You think that’s going to make your song any better? I think not, not at all, but well, since you’re so broadminded today and…”

“Why don’t you just shut the fuck up?” Paul interrupted him, stepping towards John.

“Now, NOW!” George stepped in between them. “Relax, okay? You two are worse than an old married couple. Have a fag or a cuppa. Calm down.”

And just like that, the air had cleared.

“You hear that, Macca? Old married couple, eh?” John laughed, leaned back in his chair and started to kick his boots off. “So say, Paulie, what’s for dinner?”

“I’ll get you some greasy fish’n’chips, luv, just like every Friday,” Paul said, batting his lashes mockingly.

George shook his head and glanced over at Ringo who mouthed “What?” at him. 

'Good question,' George thought, shrugged and smiled. 

***

And then, one night, George caught them. 

George was looking for a place for a smoke. He hadn’t had a good day. The Bahamas were cold, he was moody and all he wanted was solitude and a chance to get high.

The cottage was small and almost impossible to find. The place was deserted, but he’d overheard John talk about it earlier that day. George walked to the back, looking for the door, when he saw a faint light and movements behind the shutters. They were not fully closed, so he peered inside.

John was lying on a sofa, blowing out smoke. Paul was sitting on the floor, head rested on his knee, one feet tapping to an imaginary tune. He reached out his hand for John then, and both men shared the joint in silence.

They were naked.

George watched as Paul finished the reefer and let his head fall back onto John’s thigh. They started talking: George couldn’t make out what was being said. It didn’t matter, though. John said something and Paul laughed at him in response. 

George knew that this was what it was all about.

He watched them for a few more moments; saw Paul slowly crawling onto the sofa. George was sure he could actually hear John complaining about the narrowness of the furniture and the uncomfortable situation it caused. Paul silenced him with a kiss. John drew Paul closer towards him, and when the innocent playful kiss turned into passion and greed, George withdrew.

He never told anybody, and he never asked either of them about it. There simply weren’t any more questions left. George had gotten all the answers he needed.

 

The End.


End file.
